Scream For Me

Chapter Ten

Tuesday, January 30, 3:45 p.m.

Bailey.” Beardsley’s voice was muffled. “Bailey, are you there?”

Bailey opened one eye, then closed it again when the room spun wildly. “I’m here.”

“Are you all right?”

A sob tore free. “No.”

“What did he do to you?”

“Injection,” she said, trying not to let her teeth chatter. She was shaking so hard she thought her bones would pop out of her skin. “Smack.”

There was silence, then a muted “Dear God.”

He knew then, she thought. “I worked so hard to kick it… the first time.”

“I know. Wade told me. You’ll get out of here and you’ll kick it again.”

No, Bailey thought. I’m too tired to go through that again.

“Bailey?” Beardsley’s whisper was urgent. “You still with me? I need to keep your mind clear. I may have a way out of here. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” But she knew it was useless. I’ll never leave. Five years she’d fought the demons every day. Feed me, feed me. Just a taste to get you going. But she’d resisted. For Hope. For herself. And with one push of a syringe, he’d destroyed it all.

Tuesday, January 30, 3:45 p.m.

The phone on his desk was ringing. He ignored it, staring at the newest letter. Of course I’m the one he calls. This was worse than he’d ever thought possible.

The phone on his desk stilled and his cell phone immediately began to trill. Furious, he grabbed it. “What,” he snarled. “What the hell do you want?”

“I got another one.” He was breathless, terrified.

“I know.”

“They want a hundred grand. I don’t have that much. You have to loan it to me.”

The photocopied page had come with instructions on how to deposit the funds. It was crunched by his own hands, his knee-jerk reaction at what seemed like an innocent page of pictures, but in reality was obscene. “What else did you get?”

“A page with yearbook pictures. Janet’s and Claudia’s. Did you get one?”

“Yeah.” A page of photos cut from their yearbook and pasted in alphabetical order. Ten girls in all. With Xs through Janet’s and Claudia’s faces. “Kate’s picture’s there,” he said hoarsely. My baby sister.

“I know. What am I going to do?”

What am I going to do. That phrase summed up Rhett Porter. For God’s sake, Kate’s picture was on that page and Rhett was only worried about himself. Selfish, whiny little prick. “Did you get anything else?” he asked.

“No. Why?” Panic hitched Rhett’s voice up a half octave. “What else did you get?”

As if Kate’s picture weren’t enough. “Nothing.” But he couldn’t keep the contempt from his voice.

“Dammit, tell me.” Rhett was sobbing now.

“Don’t call me anymore.” He flipped his phone shut. Immediately it began to trill again. He turned it off, then threw it as hard as could against the wall.

He pulled an old ashtray from his desk drawer. Nobody was allowed to smoke in his office anymore, but the ashtray had been a Father’s Day present from his son, made clumsily by five-year-old hands. It was a treasure he’d never throw away. His family was everything. They must be protected, at all costs. They could never know.

You’re a coward. You have to say something. You have to warn these women.

But he wouldn’t. Because if he warned them, he’d have to tell how he knew and he wasn’t willing to do that. He flicked his lighter and touched the flame to the corner of the photocopy. It burned slowly, curling on itself until he could no longer see the picture of his own sister, circled for emphasis. Kate had graduated the same year as Janet Bowie and Claudia Silva Barnes. The threat was clear. Pay up or Kate would be next.

The last picture to burn was the eleventh, the one only his paper apparently had. He stared as Rhett Porter’s face melted, then burned to ash.

Rhett. You dumb fuck. You’re a dead man because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut. When the photocopy was fully burned, he dumped the ashes in the coffee he’d left untouched from the morning. He stood up, smoothed his tie.

I, on the other hand, can be taught. He carefully folded the instructions for the required bank deposit and slipped them into his wallet. He knew a guy who could do a bank transfer and keep his mouth shut. He wiped the dust from the ashtray with a tissue, then carefully placed the ashtray back in his drawer. He had to get to the bank.

Dutton, Tuesday, January 30, 5:45 p.m.

Oh, God. Alex. Daniel’s heart started to race as pulled into the street to Bailey Crighton’s house. An ambulance was parked on the curb, its lights flashing.

He ran to the ambulance. Alex sat inside in the back, her head between her knees.

He forced his voice to be calm even though his heart was stuck in his throat. “Hey.”

She looked up, pale. “It’s just a house,” she hissed. “Why can’t I get over this?”

“What happened?”

The paramedic appeared from the other side of the rig. “She had a garden-variety panic attack,” he said, condescension in his tone. Alex’s chin shot up and she glared. But she said nothing and the paramedic made no apology.

Daniel put his arm around her. “What exactly happened, honey?” he murmured, glancing at the paramedic’s badge. P. Bledsoe. He vaguely recalled the family.

Alex leaned against him. “I tried to go in. I got to the front porch and I got sick.”

Bledsoe shrugged. “We checked her out. She had a slightly elevated BP, but nothing out of range. Maybe she just needs some tranquilizers.” He said it with sarcasm and it wasn’t until Alex stiffened that Daniel understood what the man had meant.

Sonofabitch. Daniel stood, fury hazing the edges of his vision. “Excuse me?”

Alex grabbed his jacket between her fingertips. “Daniel, please.”

But there was shame in her voice and his temper blew. “No. That was inexcusable.”

Bledsoe blinked innocently. “I was just suggesting that Miss Tremaine calm down.”

Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “Like hell you were. Plan on filling out about fifty forms, buddy, because your supervisor’s going to hear about this.”

The color rose in Bledsoe’s cheeks. “I really didn’t mean any harm.”

“Tell it to your supervisor.” Daniel lifted Alex’s chin. “Can you walk?”

She looked away. “Yeah.”

“Then let’s go. You can sit in my car.” She was quiet until they got to his car. He opened the front passenger door, but she pulled back when he tried to guide her in.

“You shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t need to make more enemies in this town.”

“Nobody should talk to you like that, Alex.”

Her mouth twisted. “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think it’s humiliating enough that I can’t even walk into that place?” Her voice became cool. “But what he intimated is true. I did swallow a bottleful of tranquilizers and nearly offed myself.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Of course it’s not the point. The point is that I need the people in this town until I find out what happened to Bailey. Long term, I don’t care. It’s not like I plan to live here.”

Daniel blinked, for the first time considering that at some point she’d return to the life she’d dropped so abruptly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about it that way.”

Her shoulders sagged, the cool façade vanishing. “And I’m sorry. You were trying to help. Let’s just forget it.” She bent to get into his car and her face relaxed. “Riley.”

Riley sat behind the wheel, alert and sniffing. “He likes the car,” Daniel said.

“I can see that. Hey, Riley.” Scratching Riley’s ears, she looked through the driver’s window to Bailey’s house. “A grown woman shouldn’t be afraid of a house.”

“You want to try again?” Daniel asked.

“Yes.” She backed out of the car and Riley stepped over the gearshift, following her to the passenger seat. Her expression was severe. “Don’t let me run. Make me go in.”

“Ed won’t like it if you throw up on his crime scene,” he said mildly, taking her arm and slamming the car door in Riley’s face.

She huffed a chuckle. “If I turn green, run.” But the chuckle disappeared as they neared the house. Her step slowed and her body trembled. This was a real physical reaction, Daniel realized.

“PTSD,” he murmured. Post-traumatic stress disorder. She had all the signs.

“I figured that out on my own,” she muttered. “Don’t let me run. Promise me.”

“I promise. I’ll be right behind you.” He lightly pushed her up the front porch stairs.

“I got this far before.” She said it between her teeth. Her face had grown very pale.

“I wasn’t with you before,” he said. She leaned back at the open front door and Daniel gently but firmly propelled her forward. She stumbled, but he caught her, keeping her upright. Her body was shaking now and he could hear her muttering to herself.

“Quiet, quiet.”

“The screams?” he asked and she nodded. He looked over her shoulder. Her arms were crossed tight over her chest, her face was clenched, her eyes closed tight. Her lips moved in a silent mantra of “Quiet, quiet.” Daniel slipped his arms around her waist and held her to him. “You’re doing great. You’re in the living room, Alex.”

She only nodded, her eyes still clenched shut. “Tell me what’s here.”

Daniel puffed out a breath. “Well, it’s a mess. There’s garbage on the floor.”

“I can smell it.”

“And there’s an old mattress on the floor, too. No sheet. The mattress is stained.”

“With blood?” she asked through her teeth.

“No, probably sweat.” She was still trembling, but not as violently. He tucked her under his chin. She fit perfectly. “There’s an old picture hanging on the wall, crooked. It’s one of those beach scenes with the sand dunes. It’s discolored and old.”

She was relaxing into him a little more each minute. “That was never here before.” She opened her eyes and drew a sharp breath. “The walls are painted.” There was relief in her voice and Daniel thought about how this house must appear in her dreams.

She’d found her mother dead in this room. He’d discovered gun-to-the-head suicides over the course of his career. At least one of the walls would have been covered in blood, brains, and bits of bone. What a horrific memory to have carried all these years.

“The carpet is blue,” he said.

“It was brown before.” She turned her head, taking it all in. “It’s all different.”

“It’s been thirteen years, Alex. It’s to be expected that they’d clean up. Paint. Nobody would leave the house the way you remembered it.”

Her laugh was self-deprecating. “I know. I should have known, anyway.”

“Sshh.” He kissed the top of her head. “You’re doing great.”

She nodded, her swallow audible. “Thank you. Wow, the cops were right. This place is a sty.” She nudged the mattress with her toe. “Bailey, what were you thinking?”

“You want to come with me to look for Ed?”

She nodded quickly. “Yes,” she blurted. “Don’t-”

Don’t leave me alone. “I won’t leave you, Alex. You ever see those old vaudeville acts? We’ll just walk like them.”

She chuckled, but it was a pained sound. “This is ridiculous, Daniel.”

He started walking, keeping her close. “Ed?” he called.

The back door slammed and Ed came in through the kitchen. His serious expression became one of surprise when he saw Alex. “Did the EMTs say she was okay?”

“You called them?” Daniel asked.

“Yeah. She was white as a sheet and her pulse was through the moon.”

“Thank you, Agent Randall,” she said, and Daniel could hear the embarrassment in her voice. “I’m okay now.”

“I’m glad.” He looked at Daniel, gentle amusement in his eyes. “I offered to hold on to her, but she turned me down flat.”

Daniel gave him a don’t-even-think-about-it look and Ed bit back his smile, then sobered, his hands on his hips as he looked around the room. “This is staged,” Ed declared, and beneath Daniel’s chin, Alex’s head shot up.

“What?” she demanded.

“Yes, ma’am. Somebody wanted this place to look like a mess. This carpet is dirty, but the dirt’s not ground in. The base of the carpet fibers are clean-somebody’s vacuumed recently and often. The dust on everything? We’ve taken samples and will run all the tests back at the lab, but I’m betting it’s all the same composition. Looks like a mix of ash and dirt. The toilets are so clean you can drink out of them.” His lips curved. “Not that I’m recommending it, mind you.”

“The social worker said Hope was found in a closet.” She pointed. “Right there.”

“We’ll check it out.”

Daniel knew Ed well enough to know there was more. “What did you find?”

Alex went rigid against him. “Tell me. Please.”

“Outside in the woods in back of the house, there was a struggle. We found blood.”

“How much blood?” Alex asked, very quietly.

“A lot. Someone had covered the area with leaves, but the wind last night blew them around. We’re finding a lot of leaves with blood smears. I’m sorry.”

Unsteadily she nodded. She was trembling again. “I understand.”

Daniel tightened his hold on her. “Did you find blood here in the house, Ed?”

“Not yet, but we’ve really just started. Why?”

“Because Hope is coloring with red crayons,” Alex answered for him. “If she was hiding in the closet the whole time, she wouldn’t have seen the blood.”

“So she was either looking through a window or she was out there,” Daniel finished.

“We’ll check it out,” Ed promised.

Daniel tugged on Alex. “Come on, Alex. Let’s go outside. You’ve seen enough.”

Her chin went up. “Not yet. Can I go upstairs, Agent Randall?”

“If you don’t touch anything.”

But she didn’t move. Daniel leaned down to murmur in her ear, “You want to walk vaudeville or ride over my shoulder, caveman style?”

She closed her eyes and her hands clenched around the bandages. “I have to do this, Daniel.” But her voice shook. She was past cool, past scared.

Daniel didn’t necessarily agree that this was a good idea. He could already see the change in her face. She was pale, her forehead clammy. Still, he gave her a squeeze of encouragement. “If you think so, then I’ll go with you.”

She got to the stairs and stopped. She was shaking head to toe, her breath shallow and rapid. She grabbed the banister, her fingers digging in like claws. “Just a damn house,” she muttered and pulled herself up two of the stairs before stopping again.

Daniel turned her face so that she looked at him. Her eyes were glassy and terrified.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

“Then don’t,” he whispered back.

“I have to.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. But I have to.” She closed her eyes, wincing with pain. “It’s really loud,” she said, sounding more like a child.

“What do they say?” he asked and her eyes flew open.

“What?”

“What do they say when they scream?”

“ ‘No.’ And she says, ‘I hate you, I hate you. I wish you were dead.’ ” Tears rolled down her ashen cheeks.

Daniel smoothed away her tears with his thumb. “Who says that?”

She was sobbing now, silently. “My mom. It’s my mom.”

Daniel turned her into his arms and she clutched the lapels of his suit as her whole body shook with the force of her silent weeping. He backed down the few stairs she’d climbed, taking her with him.

When they got outside, the ambulance was packing up to leave. Bledsoe took one look at Alex, bowed over and stumbling, and started toward them. Daniel leveled the man his coldest look and Bledsoe stopped in his tracks.

“What happened?” Bledsoe asked.

“This is not a garden-variety panic attack,” Daniel bit out. “Get out of the damn way.”

Bledsoe started walking backward. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think…”

“Damn straight you didn’t think. I said move.”

Bledsoe had backed his way to the curb, looking distressed. “Is she all right?”

She was still weeping in his arms, and it broke Daniel’s heart. “No, but she will be.”

Dutton, Tuesday, January 30, 6:45 p.m.

A willowy redhead was sitting on Alex’s front porch steps, her head in her hands. The front door stood open and as soon as he got out of the car Daniel could hear the six notes Alex had told him about. Again and again and again.

The redhead lifted her head and Daniel saw a frustrated woman at the edge of control. Then she saw Alex and stood, her eyes focused. “My God. What happened?”

“She’s okay,” Daniel said. He went around the car and helped Alex to her feet. “Come on, Riley.” The hound took a lazy leap to the street.

Alex winced at the music. “She’s still playing?”

The redhead nodded. “Yes.”

“Why not just unplug the organ?” Daniel asked, and the woman gave him a look so filled with ire that he almost stepped back. “Sorry.”

“I tried to unplug the organ,” she said through gritted teeth. “She started to scream. Loudly.” She glared at Alex in helpless frustration. “Somebody called the cops on me.”

“You’re kidding,” Alex said. “Who came?”

“Some deputy named Cowell. He said he’d have to call Social Services if we couldn’t get her to stop screaming, that the neighbors were complaining. I plugged the organ back in until we could decide what to do next. Alex, we may need to sedate her.”

Alex’s shoulders sagged. “Hell. Daniel, my cousin, Dr. Meredith Fallon. Meredith, Agent Daniel Vartanian.” She looked down at her feet. “And Riley.”

Meredith nodded. “I figured that out. Come in, Alex. You look like hell. Please excuse my rudeness, Agent Vartanian. My nerves are running thin.”

The music was already starting to grate on him after only a few minutes. He couldn’t imagine listening to it for hours. He followed them into the bungalow where a little girl with golden curls sat in front of the organ playing the same six notes with one finger. She didn’t act like she even knew they were there.

Alex’s jaw tightened. “This has gone on long enough. We need Hope to talk to us.” Alex walked to the wall and unplugged the organ. Immediately the music ceased and Hope’s head shot up. Her mouth opened and her chest expanded as she dragged in a deep breath, but before she could make a sound, Alex was in her face. “Don’t. Don’t scream.” She put her hands on the little girl’s shoulders. “Look at me, Hope. Now.”

Startled, Hope lifted her face to Alex’s. Beside him, Meredith huffed a frustrated sigh. “ ‘Don’t scream,’ ” she muttered sarcastically. “Wish to hell I’d thought of that.”

“Sshh,” Daniel cautioned.

“I just came from your house, Hope,” Alex said. “Baby, I know what you saw. I know somebody hurt your mommy.”

Meredith stared at Daniel. “She went to the house?” she mouthed, and he nodded.

Hope was staring up at Alex, a tortured look on her little face, but instead of screaming, silent tears began to roll down her cheeks.

“You’re scared,” Alex said. “And so am I. But, Hope, your mommy loves you. You know she does. She never would have left you on purpose.”

Daniel wondered who Alex was trying to convince, herself or Hope. I hate you. I wish you were dead. Whether or not her mother had actually said the words, they were real in Alex’s mind. It was a terrible burden to live with. This he knew.

Tears still streaming down her cheeks, Hope began to rock on the organ bench. Sliding on the bench next to her, Alex pulled Hope into her arms and rocked with her. “Sshh. I’m here. Meredith’s here. We won’t leave you. You’re safe now.”

Riley padded over to where Alex rocked Hope and poked her thigh with his nose.

Alex took Hope’s clenched fist and, spreading the little fingers wide, put Hope’s hand on Riley’s head. Riley gave one of his giant sighs and laid his nose on Hope’s knee. Hope began to pet Riley’s head.

Beside him Meredith Fallon drew a shaky breath. “I hope she doesn’t pet your dog like she colored or played that organ. Riley will be bald by bedtime.”

“We’ll put Rogaine in his dog chow,” Daniel said.

Meredith snorted a laugh that sounded more like a sob. “She went into the house.”

Daniel sighed. “Yes.”

“And you went with her.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “Alex, I’m hungry and I have to get out of this house. When I was running this morning I passed a pizza place next to the post office.”

“Presto Pizza?” Daniel asked, surprised.

“You know it?” Meredith asked and he nodded.

“I lived on their pepperoni slices when I was a kid. I didn’t know it was still there.”

“Then that’s where we’re going. Alex, put on some makeup. We’re eating out.”

Alex lifted her face, frowning. “I don’t think so. We’re going to see Sister Anne.”

“We’ll do that after we eat. Hope needs to get out, too. I’ve been treating her with kid gloves, observing her. You made a breakthrough. I don’t want her sliding backward.”

“We still need to eat, Alex,” Daniel said, earning him an appreciative glance from Meredith. “It won’t take long, then we can go to the shelter. Besides, who knows who’ll show up while we’re eating? The guy that tried to run you down had been watching you. If he wasn’t the same person who took Bailey, he may know who did.”

She nodded. “You’re right. And it’s not only Bailey. There are the other women, too. I’m sorry, Daniel. I’m being selfish. I guess I’m not thinking too straight right now.”

“It’s okay. You’ve had kind of a busy day.” And because she looked like she needed it, he went to her and pulled her into his arms. She rested her cheek against his chest and he realized he’d needed this, too. “Go on, change your clothes.” He looked down at Hope, who was still stroking Riley’s head. Riley gave him a soulful look and Daniel chuckled. “Hurry, before poor Riley needs a toupee.”

Tuesday, January 30, 7:00 p.m.

He gripped the steering wheel, glancing up at his rearview mirror. He licked his lips nervously. It was still there. The car had been tailing him since he’d hit US-19.

Rhett Porter had no idea where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get away. Get away. He was a marked man. He’d known it as soon as he’d heard his friend say “Nothing” with such contempt. His friend. Ha. One hell of a friend, dropping him like a hot potato as soon as things got rough.

He’d get away. He knew things. Things any upstanding district attorney would want to know. Would pay to know. He’d take his payment in the form of witness protection.

He’d move to the middle of nowhere, lose his drawl. Disappear.

He heard the rev of the engine behind him a moment before he felt the jolt. The steering wheel wrenched from his hands as the tires slipped off the edge of the road. He fought for control, but it was too late. He saw the road drop away. Saw the rush of trees past his windows. Heard the crunch of metal against wood.

Felt the crushing blow to his skull, the piercing pain in his chest, the dizziness as his car began to roll. He smelled the iron odor of blood. His own blood. I’m bleeding.

When the world stopped moving, he looked up, dazed. He was hanging upside down, still strapped to his seat. He heard footsteps, saw knees as someone crouched to look into the wreckage that had been his car. His hope died when eyes he knew and had once trusted stared at him through the splintered glass of his windshield.

Still he tried. “Help me,” he moaned.

The eyes rolled. “You would have to wear a seat belt. You can’t even die right.”

The eyes disappeared. The footsteps retreated, then returned.

“Help me. Please.”

“You’re a fuck-up, Porter.” He pushed the broken glass aside with his elbow, reached in, and took the keys from his ignition. A moment later, the keys were returned. One key, Rhett knew, would be missing. He almost smiled, wishing he could be there to see their stunned reactions when they saw what it unlocked.

Then he smelled gasoline, then the acrid smell of burning tinder and he knew.

I’m going to die. He closed his eyes, cursing the men he’d protected for so long. Thirteen years he’d kept the secret. Now… I’ll see you all in hell.

He stood on the road, fists on his hips, watching the fire licking around the car below. He could feel the heat from where he stood. Someone would come soon. He put the gas can in his trunk and drove away. Bye, Igor. You stupid sonofabitch.

He swallowed as he drove. They had numbered seven once. Now they were three.

He’d been responsible for the elimination of two of them. DJ’s body had never been found. He remembered the sulfur smell of the swamp, the splash as he’d chucked DJ’s body over the side of his boat. He imagined a gator had feasted that night.

DJ had been a liability. The gambling, the liquor, the women. Lots of women. They hadn’t nicknamed Jared O’Brien “Don Juan” for nothing. Jared had gone off on rants when he got drunk. It had been only a matter of time before he exposed them all. It had been Jared or the rest of them. The choice hadn’t been that difficult.

Somehow killing Igor had been a lot harder. When the fire was done with Rhett Porter, there wouldn’t be much of his body left either. So it all amounted to the same difference, except that somewhere a gator was going to bed with an empty stomach.

He thought of the other two that were now gone. Daniel Vartanian had taken down Ahab. Of course they’d never called Simon that to his face. Simon had been a scary SOB, his peg leg just one of many untouchable subjects. He remembered the day they’d buried Simon the first time. The relief they’d all felt, but no one had voiced.

And the other? It had only been a matter of time. He was frankly shocked Po’boy had lived as long as he had, dodging bullets in every godforsaken war zone on the planet. Finally it had been an Iraqi insurgent that had taken Wade out. He’d first felt relief at the news that Dutton’s war hero was coming home in a box. For years Wade Crighton had been an unsnipped thread, the only one of them to leave the town, the only one of them out of the sight and control of the others.

Well, except for Simon, he thought. They’d thought they’d been safe with him dead all those years. He supposed they should thank Daniel Vartanian for killing the scary SOB once and for all, but the thought of thanking Daniel Vartanian for anything made him sick. Simon had been scary, but Daniel was smug and that made him angry.

Now both Simon and Wade were gone, as were Rhett and Jared.

Now they numbered only three. Both Simon and Wade had died beyond his reach, leaving the whereabouts of their keys in question. A week ago he would have thought finding their keys would solve all of his problems. But now the keys were the least of his problems.

Janet and Claudia, both dead, found just like Alicia Tremaine. And I didn’t kill them. Neither had his boss. I was an idiot to ever think that he would. Harvard was sick and twisted, but not stupid.

They’d all been stupid kids, but now they were men. Leaders of the community. They’d managed this uneasy truce among themselves for years, no one wanting to lose the lives they’d built for themselves. The respectability they’d earned.

Somebody else had killed Janet and Claudia, someone who’d mimicked Alicia Tremaine’s death down to the smallest detail. It might have been a copycat.

Except that somebody knew about the keys. Somebody was taunting them. He thought of Rhett Porter. Somebody wanted them to panic. Rhett had panicked and now he was dead.

Now they were three. If no one else panicked, there was no way anyone else would find out, no way they could be linked to Alicia Tremaine.

Because they hadn’t killed her. They’d raped Alicia Tremaine, but they hadn’t killed her nor had they dumped her blanket-wrapped body in a ditch. The man that had killed Alicia Tremaine had been rotting behind bars for thirteen years. No one could pin anything on them now, as long as they stayed calm. They just needed to stay calm.

Stay calm. And think. He needed to find out who was killing these women before Vartanian did. If Vartanian got to this bastard first… Whoever had killed Janet and Claudia knew about the club. The bastard would tell. And everything they’d built for themselves would be taken away. Destroyed.

I need to find out what the hell Daniel Vartanian knows. Why had Vartanian, of all people, been assigned to this case? Did Vartanian know? Did he know about Simon… and us? Had Vartanian found Simon’s key?

He gritted his teeth and tapped his brakes. The car in front of him was crawling, in no hurry at all. He flashed his headlights and immediately the car changed lanes, allowing him to pass. Better.

He focused on the open road ahead. It helped him to clear his mind, to think. If Vartanian suspected anything, he wasn’t saying, but Daniel had always been the closemouthed kind. Scary in his own way with those eyes of his.

And Vartanian had taken up with Alex Fallon, a major problem in her own right. Even if they found out who’d killed Janet and Claudia, the damage had been done. Everyone was talking about Alicia Tremaine, how she’d died. And now, having Alex Fallon walking around town, looking so much like Alicia, it was just fanning the flames.

Alex Fallon was walking around town because Bailey was still missing. He no longer had control over what happened to Bailey Crighton, but he did have control over what happened to Alex Fallon. His guy had fucked up big-time this afternoon. The man was only supposed to watch Fallon, report back, stop her from talking to the wrong people. He’d never intended him to run her down in the street. There were other, more discreet ways of making people go away.

This he knew. He’d get rid of Alex Fallon, discreetly. Then he’d find out who was taunting them with dead women and keys. Before Vartanian got to the bastard first.

Because if Daniel found out what had really happened, nothing else would matter. They’d go to prison. I’ll die first. He pressed the accelerator to the floor, speeding back to town. He had no intention of going to prison or dying first. He had work to do.

Mack lowered his camera, a grim smile on his face. He’d known they’d turn on each other. He hadn’t expected it so quickly. But any time any of the four had taken a drive out of town in the last month, Mack had followed. Usually he was rewarded with wonderful new secrets he knew none of the men would want revealed, and of course tonight had been no exception.

Now the four were three and Mack was one step closer to the culmination of his dream. He clicked through the photos he’d just taken. His plan for the remaining three was solid, but these photos would make for a handy Plan B should his base plan fall apart. Always have a contingency, a back door, an escape hatch. A Plan B. Just another one of those prison lessons he’d learned well.

Speaking of lessons, he had another to deliver. In a few hours, he’d be the proud owner of one more girl and a very nice ’Vette.